


Human Beings and Butterfly Wings

by LadyGoat



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Assassin's Creed Odyssey
Genre: Character Death Fix, Established Relationship, Fix-It, I swear it will get fluffier, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 15:39:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17563271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGoat/pseuds/LadyGoat
Summary: When Alexios saves Phoibe from dying at the hands of the Cult, he needs a safe place for her to stay while he finishes his bloody business. Since she's one of two people in the world he can love without reservation, what better place for her than with the other one?





	Human Beings and Butterfly Wings

"you could not remove a single grain of sand from its place without thereby ... changing something throughout all parts of the immeasurable whole" 

\--Johann Gottlieb Frichte, _The Vocation of Man_ , 1800

"One meteorologist remarked that if the theory were correct, one flap of a sea gull's wings would be enough to alter the course of the weather forever. The controversy has not yet been settled, but the most recent evidence seems to favor the sea gulls."

\-- Edward Lorenz, _The Predictability of Hydrodynamic Flow_ , 1963

τό τε γε μὴν ἐντεῦθεν γενόμενον ἔξεστι μὲν τὸ θεῖον αἰτιᾶσθαι, ἔξεστι δὲ λέγειν ὡς τοῖς ἀπονενοημένοις οὐδεὶς ἂν ὑποσταίη.

— Xenophon, _Hellenica_ , 7.5.12

Back on Kephallonia, before her parents had died even, Phoibe had asked Alexios to teach her to fight one day. He had agreed only after she’d promised to never try to hold her own against someone bigger and better armed than she was, only to use what he showed her to be able to get away, and once the opening to get away was there, to take it and not look back.

“Hesitation only hastens the grave, Phoibe,” he’d told her, his big hand enveloping hers as he showed her how to make a fist and that sad look on his face he got sometimes that meant he was remembering things he didn’t want to remember. He always made her feel safe, safer even than her parents. He was never too busy to talk to her and he never talked to her like she was too little to understand what he was saying. So of course she’d promised him, she’d have promised him whatever he asked to get to spend that golden afternoon learning to punch things in the little practice yard behind his house out by the ruins.

Remembering that lesson, when she’d gotten to Anastasio’s house and found everyone dead she had immediately turned to run. And when a large hand had grabbed her arm, hard enough to bruise, she’d turned and sunk her teeth into the wrist just below a metal bracer, hard enough to draw blood. The hand let go and Phoibe ran. The way she’d come, back to Perikles’s house and safety, was blocked. But a way forward was open and she took it, sprinting into chaotic night time streets already filled with bodies and smoke.

* * *

Alexios shoved people out of his way indiscriminately, leaping obstacles where he could rather than going around, anything to wring a fraction of a heartbeat more time to get himself to Phoibe. He felt like he was propelled by incandescent rage at Aspasia for sending a small, defenseless girl out into the brutality of the Athens night. Half in Ikaros’s head and half in his own, he spotted the house and pushed himself harder, skidding into it by grabbing one corner of the doorframe.

There was nothing there but dead bodies, destruction, and blood. A quick glance told him the bodies were all adults and he spun, sprinting back for the street, and heard Ikaros cry a warning and flash a quick image: a child, running for the Odeon ahead and to his left, and five Cultists after her and closing. Ikaros was no night-flying owl, but his vision was good enough for Alexios to send the eagle on a swooping dive at the figure in front of the pursuit party as he himself ran hard on a course to intercept Phoibe.

Ikaros’s dive had worked; the lead fighter had jerked back, arms flailing, and knocked into the ones following. It bought Phoibe and Alexios both precious time. He sensed the eagle’s grumpiness at being required to fly at night being replaced by the drive to fight and sent him at the guards a second time. It was slightly less effective but still delayed them, and then Alexios had skidded to a stop between them and Phoibe, sword and Spear out, feet planted solidly on the stones of the square in front of the Odeon. His chest heaved and his throat burned as he tried to get enough air, but he was determined to be immovable and give Phoibe time to escape.

The Cultists weren’t startled by his sudden appearance for long. Drawing weapons, they spread out, looking to envelop and deal with him. With a wild cry, Ikaros hit the one farthest to his left, fisted talons clanging off the man’s shining helmet, driving him closer to the group. _What a good bird_ , Alexios had time to think, and then they were on him and there was only time to move, to do the deadly dance of action and reaction and struggling for breath and to keep his blood and vital organs inside him where they were meant to be instead of on the Athens pavement. He set aside his awareness that if he failed, Phoibe would also die. He set aside everything but the next breath, the next heartbeat, the next opening where the Spear found a hole in a defense and opened a hole in a body to go with it.

It seemed to go on forever, but finally it was done. Five bodies lay before him on the pavements, moonlight glittering on their impersonal masks and the pools of blood underneath them. He leaned down, bracing his bloody hands on his knees and gasping for air now that the crisis was past. He needed to find Phoibe and get her out of here, needed to—

“Alexios!” A small weight hit him and he staggered but managed to stay upright. Phoibe flung her arms around his waist, not caring about the blood and filth covering him, and he let out a breath.

“Hey, hey now,” he murmured softly, one hand cradling the back of her head as the other arm went protectively around her shoulders. “You’re safe now, Phoibe. It’s all right, they’re all dead.”

“I didn’t think anyone was coming! And I couldn’t get back to Perikles’s house and they just kept chasing me and I don’t even know why they were.”

Alexios sank down to his knees and hugged her tightly, feeling her thin little body shake. “It’s all right, I did get here, and you’re safe now, I’ll keep you safe from everyone, Phoibe. No one is going to hurt you.”

Hurrying footsteps behind him jerked Alexios to his feet, his sword coming out reflexively as he shoved Phoibe behind him. It was only Sokrates and Hippokrates, both of them out of breath. He relaxed fractionally, resting a protective hand on Phoibe’s shoulder where she leaned against his side. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Perikles,” Sokrates explained. “He’s gone to the Akropolis, to his Parthenon. Aspasia went after him.”

Alexios went cold, his hand tightening on Phoibe’s shoulder. Aspasia, who had sent a small girl into the violent streets. No. Not a small girl. _Phoibe_. She’d nearly been killed, thanks to Aspasia. He knelt down again, cupping Phoibe’s face gently in one hand. “Phoibe, I want you to go with these men. They’re going to take you to my ship. You’ll be safe there. I need to go get Perikles.”

She clutched at his other hand. “Alexios, no, look at them, anyone could just kill them too. Don’t leave me.” 

He closed his eyes, an expression somewhere between pained and rueful warring on his face. “All right, Phoibe. All right. But you stay behind me, and if there’s fighting, you hide until it’s over.”

Phoibe lunged forward to throw her arms around his neck. “I will, Alexios. You’ll see. I won’t be any trouble.”

Sokrates and Hippokrates exchanged a look. “I think we’d better go with you,” the bald doctor said.

Alexios shrugged, taking Phoibe’s hand. “I intend to have words with Aspasia either way.”

“That’s what worries us,” said Sokrates, following Alexios and Phoibe out into the streets.

It was a nightmare of smoke and the smell of burning meat and the wailing of mourners. On his own, Alexios would have gone over rooftops and through alleyways and up the vertical side of the Akropolis. But he had Phoibe’s small hand clutched tight in his own and a philosopher and a physician following, keeping him to the main streets. When Phoibe stumbled he scooped her up without a word, settling her on his hip, her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder. He wouldn’t lose her again, wouldn’t fail her again. He would find Markos and gut him for letting her off Kephallonia. He would — Aspasia was waiting for them on the porch of the Parthenon.

“There you are! If Perikles is anywhere, he’s inside, praying.” Aspasia wrung her hands. 

Alexios set Phoibe down carefully and crouched in front of her. “Phoibe. Stay with Sokrates and Hippokrates. I’m going inside. I will be right back, I promise you.” She nodded and stepped back between the other two men as Alexios moved swiftly but cautiously inside. 

What he found was just another nightmare: his sister crouched over Perikles, whispering to him before she slit his throat. He felt red rage rising up as she strode out, tossing a careless “Stay out of my way” over her shoulder and he lunged into her two guards, letting the anger carry him away. When he came back to himself, breathing hard, they lay dead. Aspasia was collapsed by Perikles, and Phoibe stood big-eyed between his friends. He bowed his head.

Sokrates touched him on the arm. “We have to get Aspasia out of Athens.”

He nodded. “We’ll take the Adrestia. I need to get Phoibe to safety, as well. Come, Aspasia. Don’t let his death be in vain.”

Aspasia wiped her eyes and stood, coming to join them. He held out a hand to Phoibe and she ran to him, flinging her arms around his waist+m . He cradled the back of her head gently, giving himself a moment to rejoin the world. Then the five of them turned and walked back out into the nightmare of the streets.

**Author's Note:**

> I have started and stopped this repeatedly but apparently I'm only capable of following through on fic if I publish it as I go, so...here we go! Another grand adventure. Not in the same timeline as "It's Only You, Isn't It" obviously, although if this is your first run-in with me and my writing you may find [my historical reference kit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16775245) handy.
> 
> There will probably be more lengthy historical footnotes in our future.


End file.
